The Sin of Saints
by The Wallflower
Summary: A former cultist who has found Christianity enrages Caleb and the others. They look to Tchernobog for guidance and find they must take justice into their own hands.
1. I

The Sin of Saints - Stanza I

Copyright 2001 by Eric J. Juneau. All rights reserved.

This story is in no way intended to infringe on the established copyrights and trademarks of Monolith Productions, Inc. It is for entertainment purposes only and is not intended for sale. It may be freely distributed providing that no alterations to the story are made. The characters and incidents portrayed and the names in this story used herein are fictitious and any similarity to the name, character, or history of any person, living, dead, or otherwise, is purely coincidental and unintentional.

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**The Sin of Saints**

By Eric J. Juneau

**"COME FORWARD."**

Richard Manning stepped forward. He trembled with fear, convulsing under the ceremonial robe of the unholy he wore - black to symbolize the putrification of his soul by his misdeeds. The burn scars on his body were hidden under it, fresh enough so that the pink sensitive layer of skin lay exposed, glistening with forming pus. Flickering torches illuminated his pain-stricken and worn-down face in brief flashes. 

The Chosen stood beside Tchernobog, sneering with glee. Gabriel and Ishmael on one side of the throne, Ophelia and Caleb on the other. They grinned and glowered down at the fallen one. Their eyes glowed red with the insatiable Bloodlust the Dark God had instilled in them long ago. They were eager for a sacrifice, the sacrifice they had deserved, but had not yet had. The trials that fallen ones would undergo were no easy task to be sure, scarcely survivable. Those who weakened the cause deserved much worse. Through all this he had failed to perish though, an unprecedented feat. And the Chosen hungered to see the blood of the tainted spilled already. But now they knew it was to come soon. It would come here and now with the final word and judgment of Tchernobog.

**"YOU STAND BEFORE US AS A TORN ONE. YOU HAVE WITHSTOOD THE TRIAL OF FIRE, THE TRIAL OF BLOOD, AND THE TRIAL OF PAIN."**

Richard shakingly nodded his head. The fear and suffering he had endured left him with tremors running down his body, muscular exhaustion. 

**"YOUR CRIME HAS DEFILED THE PURPOSE OF OUR EXISTENCE AND BROUGHT SHAME AND DISGRACE ON YOUR SOUL. wHAT ARE YOUR PLEAS OF MERCY BEFORE MY WRATH?"**

"I can offer no pleas, for they would only fall hollow upon your mercy. My sin was small, but no sin is small in service to the One that Binds. I only ask that your wrath show courtesy and example to those who may do the same."

To the Chosen, these askings fell on deaf ears. They hungered only for blood, not mercy. Though the suffering they had incurred upon him was delightful in itself, the grand finale was yet to be heard. Caleb licked his lips in anticipation of what was to come. There was no justice in the Cult, only punishment. There was no room for justness or fairness, no room for mistakes. Perhaps Richard had believed that since he had survived the trials he would be set free. If so, Caleb couldn't wait to see the expression on this putrid man's face when the verdict was finally delivered. And this one seemed so devoted to the cause as well. His greedful passion made him a noted cultist, an evil man indeed. Unfortunately, this greed also led to the crime which became his downfall. And the Chosen couldn't have that.

Tchernobog tapped his slender bone-like fingers on his throne's armrest. The quiet clinking echoed through the hall's chamber.

**"LET IT BE KNOWN FROM THIS MOMENT FORTH THAT THIS MORTAL HAS SINNED AGAINST THE CULT OF TCHERNOBOG. NO MORTAL HAS DARED SURVIVE THE TRIALS SET BEFORE HIM AND GIVEN NO PLEAS FOR MERCY ON HIS FORGOTTEN SOUL. RETURN TO THIS STAND IN A YEAR'S TIME TO SUBJECT THE CONDITION OF YOUR SOUL TO SCRUTINY. IF I AM DISPLEASED WITH THE RESULT, YOUR SOUL SHALL BE CARVED TO SHREDS AND YOUR CARCASS WILL BE FED TO THE SPIDERS THAT THEY MAY HAVE A LONG, SLOW FEAST UPON YOUR UNDEAD BODY. IF YOU FAIL TO HEED MY WORDS, YOU SHALL BE SOUGHT OUT AND RETURNED."**

"What?" Ophelia said.

"What th'?" Caleb said. "Master, this is no ruling."

"This is unprecedented, I must say," Ishmael said.

**"GO NOW, YOUR TIME GROWS SHORT."**

Richard spoke not a word but turned and walked out of the Hall of Epiphany. Caleb waited for Tchernobog to lash out his unholy Power on the mortal. Destroying him as his last thought was the hope welling back inside him - it would be the most perfect punishment of all. But no reaction came. No fire, no blue iridescent spheres of inferno. Nothing. Neither did the mortal give even a glimmer of thanks for his freedom. No gratitude. No vow to mend his ways. What sort of cult was this? Never in Caleb's time here had he ever heard or seen such a display of thoughtless mercy. This was a farce, a ridicule of the Cult's power. This was an embarrassment with unimaginable repercussions. How did something like this happen? Where did it go wrong? When did we just start letting the impure simply leave skipping out the door? Did Tchernobog actually believe he would return of his own free will in a year's time? By then, he may have organized a coalition against their purpose. Was this a test of his faith? Was faith to show him the way back to his calling as a servant to the Dreaming God? What were Tchernobog's motives?

"Master, I-"

**"I HAVE MADE MY DECISION." ** He held up a massive skeletal hand to stop His esteemed generals before they had a chance to protest, as He knew they would. He knew they had desired a sacrifice out of this one. The powers of Bloodlust He had given them were growing stronger, and with this He was pleased. However there was no rank in his army that gave the privilege of questioning His decisions. Not the lieutenants, not the Chosen, no one. A god is a god.

**"MY CHILDREN, THIS MORTAL HAS GIVEN HIS DUE."**

Ishmael said, "But master, I could count a thousand reasons why this judgment is errored. Th-"

**"I DO NOT ERROR. GO NOW. YOU HAVE DUTIES TO ATTEND."**

The Chosen knew better than failing to heed the word of Tchernobog. They hadn't served under Him for so long and not learned the price of disobedience. However, it seemed the price was dropping sharply.

Caleb, Ophelia, Gabriel, and Ishmael did as their god said and walked out of the Hall of Epiphany. "Ain' nuthin' right about dis," Gabriel said.

"Quiet, Gabriel. He'll hear," Ophelia said.

"I for one do not believe this to be a wise decision."

"He's not gonna come back in a year."

"What do you think, Caleb?"

Caleb said nothing. The fire in his eyes burned with scorching passion and hatred. He grinded his teeth against teeth, clenching his jaw tight, so tight he might have shattered his entire mouth. His fingers slowly curled into a tight ball. They eagerly desired something to hit. His fingernails dug deep into his palm, making small crescent shaped lacerations.

But he said nothing.


	2. II

The Sin of Saints - Stanza II

II.

ONE YEAR LATER

Caleb took great pleasure in hurtling the nauseating human before his proper god. As Gabriel had predicted, the heathen Richard Manning had not returned as was commanded to. Finally, the Chosen had sought him out. Through their contacts in other towns they quickly found him. He had taken a wife, a small petite girl named Beth, and was living with her and his brother Matthew. When the four dark angels had invaded his house, they took them as well before setting the homestead ablaze. No doubt Manning's closest would enjoy seeing him endure the torture the Chosen were planning to wreak on him before they partook of it themselves.

Now Caleb threw Richard down in the center of the hall. The three others dragged Matthew and Beth behind, but Caleb especially wanted to handle this one, to deliver the abuse that he deserved.

"Kneel! Before your god," Caleb yelled out, shoving him in such a way he skidded on his knees.

Ophelia, Gabriel, and Ishmael handed the prisoners off to two Cabal guards waiting in the wings, and went with Caleb to take their rightful places next to Tchernobog's throne. They stood evenly distributed on either side, looking down on the three mortals. Manning stood alone in the center where all could look down on him.

**"FALLEN. YOU HAVE DISOBEYED THE CABAL. YOU HAVE DISOBEYED MY WORD. FOR THIS MISDEED... YOU SHALL BURN."**

Caleb smiled toothily, grinning ear to ear. Finally, some punishment would befall this puny man. Finally, some justice would be dispensed. Some wrath would be delivered. Finally, the Devourer of Souls would do some devouring. And the heathen would rot in a dead man's tomb forever.

"You cannot harm me, for I have found the true word of Jesus Christ."

What?

**"WHAT?"**

He stood up and faced the One that Binds, looking Him straight in His vacant yellow eyes burning with all the flames of Hell's inferno. The look on his face was the look of a challenge. Something no mortal dared do lest he had written out a will in advance.

"I have found the holy word of God. I have confessed my sins and served my penitence. I have been baptized holy into the name of Jesus Christ, our lord and savior."

Christ? The old religion? At that moment, Caleb saw the rosary hanging off his neck, the symbol of his newfound faith to an unreal god. He should have seen it before, but it mattered very little.

"Your faith cannot protect your flesh," Caleb sneered at him.

"I have my angel with me. I have the light of Jesus Christ the lord, to protect me."

**"YOUR CHRIST IS DEAD. YOUR GOD CANNOT WITHSTAND MY POWER."**

"The word of Jesus Christ is immortal for only by His name may men be saved."

**"ENOUGH !"**

Uh-oh, Caleb thought delightedly, now they made Him mad.

**"FOOLISH ONE. YOU HAVE NO SOUL LEFT TO BE SAVED. YOU HAVE CARVED IT TO SHREDS IN MY SERVICE. NOW ALL THAT REMAINS IS YOUR MORTAL FLESH."** Tchernobog sat back in his throne. **"TAKE THEM."**

The Chosen looked to each other and smiled, gnashing their teeth, eyes glowing.

**"TAKE THEM ALL." **

The Cult guards seized the three, forcing them to their feet. The Chosen jumped down from their perches next to their Dreaming God and followed the guards and their captives out of the Hall of Epiphany. Now it was time to play. It would be a delight to take this baptized holy child and cremate him in the fires of hell he had now to fear thanks to his corrupted 'faith'.

The cultists took them to the sacrificial pit, a dried up well within the hall now used as a torture device. Nothing was more pure or slow or painful than death from bathing in fire. The cultists took Richard's brother and wife and threw them against the wall on the floor, making sure they could see all the beauty about to commence. Then they took Richard and strung him up in a rope pulley over the well, dangling by his hands.

"You shall never burn me. I will be saved through Jesus Christ the lord," he said as they fastened him up.

"Yeah, yeah," Gabriel said. He seized the end of rope from a hook in the wall and let it go.

The cultists still fastening him jumped back as Richard dropped like a stone into the flames.

"Gabriel, that was very rude," Ophelia exclaimed.

"I jus' couldn' take it anymore," he said. "Blah, blah, blah."

The four approached the pit and looked down into it, one on each side, their hair hanging down from their faces. He was too far down to see his suffering. Flame spires burst low from the pit, obscuring the view.

"Gabriel, pull him back up. I can't see anything," Ophelia said.

"Yes, pull him up before the rope catches fire," Ishmael said.

Gabriel grasped the rope and heaved it back. He pulled hand over hand winching the body back up. The rusty, scorched pulley squeaked terribly as it wheeled up Richard's body weight. They had heard no screams, perhaps the drop had killed him. They expected to see his clothes on fire, his skin starting to flake off and char black and crispy.

And he was miraculously unharmed.

"What da fuck?" Gabriel exclaimed.

He was looking heavenward. His palms clasped together in their rope bounds, and mumbling some hymn or prayer.

"Praise Jesus," his brother said.

"Praise the lord," his wife said.

Caleb turned and slapped the both of them in a row across the face with the back of his hand. The force of his incredible strength knocked them over on their sides. 

"Impossible," Ophelia gasped.

"This cannot be," Ishmael said.

"Take him down again," Caleb commanded.

Gabriel did as he said, slower this time, making sure he was placed in the middle of the inferno. Ophelia, Caleb, and Ishmael lurched over the side. They could see the flames dancing around him, wrapping their fingers, licking at his feet, weaving in and out of his arms. But they never touched him. The three waited and waited for him to scream or catch fire or anything.

"Cut the rope and leave him down there," Ophelia suggested.

"No, I want to _ see_ him die," Caleb demanded.

They waited and waited for any signs that the fire was putting him through the slightest bit of agony. But none came. He just hung there patiently.

"Why does he not burn?" Ishmael asked.

"Enough, pull him up," Caleb commented.

Gabriel pulled the rope, raising the man from the inferno's depths. He was still in a deep concentration of praying to his almighty God. Caleb stared at him, red burning eyes gleaming poison from under his wide-brimmed hat. He was utterly disgusted at this, the fact that his faith was appearing to save him.

"Put her up." Caleb pointed to Manning's demure wife. The cultists unhooked the man's arms and brought him down, tossing him on the floor against the wall. Caleb grabbed the woman by her bound hands and gave her to the cultists. They strung her up quickly and stepped back. Gabriel lowered her down into the center of the well. The four looked down and saw that the flames did nothing to her either, like she had an invisible fireproof coating on her.

"Dey really do have an angel," Gabriel said astonishedly.

"Ridiculous, there's no such thing," Ishmael said.

Ophelia hissed angrily. "Then what's going on here? Why won't she die?"

Caleb sighed. "Bring her back up, Gabriel."

He did as he was told, hoisting the girl back up to view.

Eyes staying heavenward she warned, "All the fires of hell will not burn me. When you die, you will go to hell and answer to Satan himself."

"Not likely," Caleb rasped. "It looks like we'll have to resort to... simpler methods. Bring them."

The cultists sprang to action and grabbed the three and followed the Chosen into a different chamber. This only had a small round pedestal against the wall with a few stairs leading up to it. A small square open pillory with a deep red stain falling down the center like a still waterfall rested in the middle of the platform. An axe leaned against the block, also stained red.

A cultist dragged Richard up and shoved his head on the curved aperture. Caleb stepped up to the block, spit on his hands, rubbed them together, and grabbed the axe. He would waste no time in this.

"Y'ready to meet your God?"

Richard did not respond, but even if he had, Caleb gave him no time to do so. He held the axe up over his head and slammed it down on his soft neck.

The axe made contact and stopped like it had hit stone. Caleb's hands stung from the impact for he hadn't held tightly enough. He dropped the axe, partially from surprise. It fell with the blade resting on the wall. Caleb stepped back cautiously. He had never been afraid of anything before in his life. Not even when he was surrounded by an entire saloon of roughnecks, or staring down the barrels of multiple guns aimed at his head. And he wasn't afraid now, but he had gotten an idea in his head that maybe, just maybe, there really was something more powerful protecting him.

"Here, let me." Gabriel stepped up to the platform, Caleb jumped off. Gabriel was the strongest of the Chosen. If he couldn't do it... 

He took the axe in hand and slammed it down hard on Manning's neck. It hit the same way as before, like metal grinding against a stone. Gabriel swung hard again. As it hit, the blade's edge chipped off and fell harmlessly to the side, ruining the weapon. Gabriel touched two fingers down on the fallen one's neck. It felt like any other normal human neck - soft, warm, spongy, pink flesh. Gabriel looked to Caleb with an expression of 'what do we do now?'. Ophelia and Ishmael mirrored the action. Caleb hated it when they looked at him like that.

"Bring them back," he said simply.

The cultists took them up and dragged them back out, making way back to the hall. He didn't care if the others had thought he failed. He had not failed. Caleb told himself he had not failed. He just needed to know what to do from here. A god has all the answers, right?

**"BRING HIM FORTH, MY CHILDREN."**

Caleb brought Richard out of the collection of people by the rope binding his hands and half-dragged him before Tchernobog, forcing him down on his knees in the center of the sacrificial ring. The minotaur-like god looked down upon the mortal before Him. Manning returned the god's gaze. Caleb stepped to the side of the ring and sneered at this impertinence. Richard thought if he was to be damned, he was going to be damned with a clean soul. But either way, he was damned. Caleb looked to Tchernobog. He was continuing to stare down at the mortal, burning yellow eyes scanning every inch of his being, physical and spiritual. At least, that's what Caleb thought, that Tchernobog was analyzing him to learn how to kill this bastard. The Dreaming God furrowed his eyes, then relaxed, slowly lifted his head back up to gaze level, staring through existence.

**"LET HIM GO."**

"What?"

**"LET THEM ALL GO. THEY ARE NO LONGER A CONCERN."**

Of all the ridiculous most absurd things ever... This was no act of his god. First, He releases him with no reason given, then He drags him back here to kill him, which cannot be done for some reason, and now He simply wants to let them go? Again!? Caleb would have killed them just for the fun of it.

"Master-"

**"UNBIND THEM."**

He exclaimed urgently, "Master-"

**"DO MY BIDDING! UNBIND THEM... CHOSEN ONE."**

Caleb's fingers curled at his side, twitching. They itched to pull the sawed-off out from his coat, point it at Tchernobog, and say, "I don't think so." He would have loved that. All he wanted to do was see someone die tonight. Was that so much to ask? The Bloodlust in him beckoned and wailed, crying out for sustenance, satisfaction. It would not stop until it had been appeased. Such was its nature. The only thing that stopped him was the childhood warning not to bite the hand that feeds. 

Caleb lowered his eyes. No, he could not have been defeated. He had never been defeated.

"You stupid fool," Caleb lashed out, swinging his fist against the back of Richard's head, knocking him on his side. "Do you not realize who are you defying? This is the One that Binds! The Devourer of Souls! His name is spoken in whispers. His gaze condemns men to death and madness. His dominion will encompass all dimensions of Earth. And you have the insolence not to cower in His presence? You had everything in His service. You had the world to inherit. All He asked of you was faith and now you have nothing. Nothing but a piece of wood around your neck." Caleb grabbed the rosary by the cross and yanked it from Richard's neck, breaking the string. He held it in his fist in front of his face. "You've traded your life for nothing. Your life is nothing!" He threw the cross away. "Do you hear me?! Nothing! Nothing!"

Richard slowly turned his head towards Caleb, the corners of his mouth upturned ever so slightly. In a calm voice, he simply said, "I will pray for you."

Caleb blinked once...

"AAAAARGH!" he screamed out his primal rage at the top of his lungs and ripped the shotgun out of his trench coat.

And Caleb began to burn.

He dropped the shotgun from pure shock as the flames swallowed his body. Scorching heat threatened to bring his mind to the brink of insanity. All his eyes could see was the fire, the incorrigible fire, so he closed them tight, tears formed at the corners of his eyes. He screamed and whimpered, dropping to his knees on the floor, curling up into a ball with his leather coat shrouding him. The pain withered away, the fire dwindled to nothing save a few wisps of smoke and the smell of cooked flesh. Caleb lifted his head slightly and blearily looked in the direction of Tchernobog. One single skeletal arm was pointed straight at him, tapering down to a single sharp thin finger.

Caleb regained his strength and composure, now that the pain was gone, and stood up, pushing away the afterimages of agony.

"Cut them loose," he said softly.

"What?" Ishmael said.

"Cut... them... loose," Caleb commanded in a loud demanding voice, telling them he would not say it again.

"You're not ser-," Ophelia exclaimed.

"Do it!" Caleb turned his head slightly, looking at them out of the corner of his eye. 

Ophelia, stunned, looked to Ishmael and shrugged her shoulders affirmatively. He pulled out his ceremonial knife, a thin curved blade attached to a short hilt, something each Chosen had received for their regard by the dark god. He swiftly sliced the rope which bound the woman, and then the same to the man beside her.  
Caleb pulled out his own knife slowly from the belt behind his trench coat. Gripping his rough, worn fingers tightly around the handle, as tight as the anger gripping his stomach, he cut through the ropes of Richard's hands, not even bothering to look at what he was doing.

Richard rubbed his chafed wrists. "Thank you, brother. God will-"

"Get out... before I jam this through your chest," Caleb whispered quietly so none would hear, especially Tchernobog. Richard nodded and turned. His wife and brother waited still for him to reach them, and when he did, the trio walked off out of the hall, free as birds.

Caleb sneered viciously and turned back to Tchernobog, the Devourer of Souls. He opened his mouth.

**"LEAVE ME."**

Caleb again opened his mouth.

**"I DO NOT NEED TO EXPLAIN MYSELF TO YOU. LEAVE ME."**

Caleb took one last cleansing breath and turned around, meeting up with the three other esteemed generals.

"Nothing good can come of this," Ishmael said.

"He wouldn' die, he jus' wouldn' die," Gabriel said.

"I can't believe you just let them go," Ophelia needled Caleb.

"What the hell was I supposed to do?" 

"Well, you should have done something, you idiot. You can't just let them go."

"And you would have him defy our leader?" Ishmael said.

"They wouldn' die, they jus' wouldn' die," Gabriel repeated.

"Shut up, I've got to think." At that, Caleb knew everyone had a witty one-liner regarding his intelligence on the tips of their tongues. But they also knew if it left the tips of their tongues, their tongues would be leaving with them. 

"These people can't just leave unpunished."

"But it seems they are invulnerable," Ishmael said. "Perhaps even immortal?"

"Everyone's immortal until they die," Caleb said. "Well, if their god can protect them from fire and blades, let's see if He can protect them from each other."


	3. III

The Sin of Saints - Stanza III

III.

"I will praise you, Lord, with all my heart and tell about the wonders you have worked. God Most High, I will rejoice: I will celebrate and sing because of you. I prayed, and you rescued me from my enemies. Death had wrapped its ropes around me, and I was almost swallowed by its flooding waters."

Richard, Beth, and Matthew sat in the First Church of Our Lord, a Greek Orthodox Church with history behind it, as old and firm as the settlement it was built in. Here they came to pray, to thank God for saving their existence from that false deity they had so foolishly served before. Redemption had come upon them, salvation was at hand. Truly a miracle was upon them this day. Thou shalt worship no other idols before Him, quoth the bible.

"We have a lot of enemies, Lord. Many fight against us and say 'God won't receive you!' But you are my shield, and you give me victory and great honor. I pray to you, and you answer from your sacred hill. Come save me, Lord God! Break my enemies' jaws and shatter their teeth, because you protect and bless your people. Amen."

They paused in reverence, their eyes closed, breathing shallowly, not making a sound.

"You know, you got every reason to pray."

Richard turned to see who was talking to him. His eyes bugged as he noticed the person beside him, as if he had just appeared. He hadn't a clue that someone had sat down right next to him. He must have been very involved in praying this morning.

The man was wearing a black scarf around his neck to keep from the balmy windy fall weather out and a long brown coat with a snap brim hat. He seemed tall and tan and old.

"I'm sorry?" Richard asked.

"I said you got every reason to pray," he answered in a gruff voice behind his scarf. "A lot of evil out there. A lot of... bad people. You gotta get protection any way you can. You can't get it from the law, can't get it from the government. So where you gonna turn?"

Richard looked at Beth and Matthew, rather confused at this stranger's sudden and unprompted praise for God that had no origin or reference. But they certainly agreed with it so they smiled and nodded.

"S'why you gotta come here, cause faith is all you have. Faith will show you the way. The only real protection is here. This is the only place where thieves like Linwood Lee Cody stay away from."

"Who?" Beth asked.

"Who?" the man mimicked. "Only the most vicious cutthroat sneak-thief this side of the Grande. Been lurking in the north woods out back, waiting for unsuspecting folk like you and me to come walking around la-dee-da and then..."

"BAM!"

The three almost fell over the backside of the pew when the voice came. It was a small woman who sat on their other side by Beth. Again, without them even seeing her come in. She had on a gray hooded cloak that shadowed her face to keep her warm, but they could see a few red strands of hair hanging down.

"L.L. Cody's one mean son-of-a-gun," she said. "Killed seven people, I heard. Robbed 'em blind. Heard they never saw it coming. Wouldn't bet he wasn't raised in a Godless home, not hearing the word of the Lord. The word of Satan has a place in his heart. If only he had the word of the Lord incurred upon him, he might mend his ways. See the light."

Upon hearing this last statement, Richard's interest spiked. The situation was very similar to his own - a dark chapter in life that seemed never to have an end. And when he had found the holiness of Jesus Christ, the savior, all that had changed. Perhaps he could find Cody and imbue upon him the word of goodness. It had happened to himself so easily, surely it could be just as effective on anyone else.

"You said he was in the woods?"

"Last I heard he was," the man responded. "He ain't got no home. Just one more reason to live that kind of life."

"Excuse us, please."

The three stood up and moved over the woman who graciously tucked her legs in to let them pass. Before leaving the church, they lined up before the altar, Richard first, kneeled and made the cross upon their breast. If they had looked back they would have seen the two strangers smiling at each other.

Once outside the church, where business could be discussed, Richard turned to his wife and brother. "Are you thinking what I am?"

"I think I am," Beth said happily and excitedly.

"Are you sure we can do it?" Matthew asked.

"I think so. It happened so well to us. We can impart our beliefs unto him. We can show him the truth of the Lord. We can do His will in such an active role, it will surely grant us great favor. If we believe, if we have faith, then the good Lord will lead us the way."

"Then let's go, let's go right now!" Beth said excitedly.

"Right, the woods aren't that big," Matthew added.

"Should we get any protection?"

"No need. The shield of faith is all we require," Richard said. "Our love of God and the light of Jesus will protect our souls."

They headed out into the forest, located behind the church, conveniently enough. The forest was dark, green, and lush. A single winding dirt path had been carved through the woods, weaving through Black Firs with bark as ebony as night. An occasional bird chirp or crow call disturbed the peace, otherwise it was deadly still silence. The smell of maple sap and sweet-smelling pine cones pleasantly drifted around their noses.

"Following this path should bring us to him eventually."

"Lest we be attacked," Beth warned cautiously.

"In such case, even better, he will be brought to us."

The three walked and walked for near ten minutes until they encountered a point where the path divided in two.

"Oh dear," Beth said.

"Where shall we go now?"

"Hmmmmm..." Richard thought for a moment and put a hand to his chin. He hadn't expected this. They could divide into each path, but then they would lose the strength of their numbers. If they chose a single path together they wouldn't cover as much ground.

Richard looked up and saw a man walking in from the left path, apparently taking a morning constitutional. He wore a closed grey overcoat that covered most of his body. He had deeply tan skin and a smoothly bald head. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, head tilted up as if regarding the sunny sky through the green and brown leaves.

Richard did not think he was the thief. He looked too stately, too regal to be a cut-throat. The way he walked casually said he was a professional. Perhaps a business-man from the East vacationing. Although he looked somewhat familiar, Richard was too focused on his mission to pay much mind to it.

"Excuse me, sir," Richard said, "Don't you know that it's dangerous to be traipsing in the forest? A lethal sneak-thief stalks these woods." 

"Oh, is that so?" he spoke in a British-Indian accent. "Then that would explain the stockpile of riches that I just happened upon. I was just going to alert the proper authorities about-"

"Stockpile of riches? Where?"

"Why directly in the way I came from," he said as he pointed down the path behind him. "You'll find the horde under a large oak tree in the middle of the path."

"Thank you kindly, sir. You'll be in our prayers tonight."

"Mm, yes." The overcoated man continued on the path, smirking a little.

The three continued down the center path, walking briskly, quickening their pace. Since the man had not seen the thief, and had apparently survived the encounter with his hiding place, that meant they had time before he would return. They would wait him out, and once he came back they would begin his borning again, his conversion to the light of good.

It wasn't long before they discovered it, just like the stranger had said. Horded at the bottom of a thick Black Oak was a pile of pure gold and silver, gold coins, jewelry, pots, vases, bracelets, necklaces, cutlery. No doubt the treasure horde was worth a great, great fortune, capable of making their family very very rich.

"In the name of the good lord! Praise Jesus!" Beth exclaimed and made the cross on her chest. 

Matthew clutched his rosary. "Hallelujah," he said softly in amazement.

"What a fortune," Richard exclaimed. Then an idea popped in his head. "I have an idea. What if we were to take this treasure away with us, then we would do well for both him and ourselves. By taking his livelihood, we'd lay siege to his career so that he'd have even more motivation to start his life anew. We need not tell him what we'd done with it. And in this, the money we'd bring to the church would aid thousands of poor souls in need." 

"A fantastic suggestion," Matthew said.

"Beth, return to the village and bring back some potato sacks and drink to quench the thirst brought by this journey post haste."

Beth nodded and spun on her heel, walking out of the forest.

As soon as she was well out of earshot, Richard whispered to Matthew, "Brother, I am struck with another idea. Instead of sharing this wealth among the poor and down trodden, let us keep it for ourselves. None would be the wiser, and our mission would still accomplish its primary goal."

"Your argument strikes me wary of your motives."

"Hush quiet. Hear me out. Have we not deserved this reward? We have survived the trials of fire and faith. Multiple trials proving our devotion. We have proven our commitment to God. Now I believe He has smiled upon us as reward. This is that reward. Have we not suffered more than most other human beings on this Earth? Have we not been called, nay, drawn to this very spot? I believe it is decreed we should take this as our own. Don't you think so?"

"Hmm."

"We live in poverty to show our humility. God has given us good fortune, let us use it."

Matthew stroked his chin. "But if we were to do so, what would become of Beth? She would not be so respondent. Nay, she would oppose what you speak."

"Beth, hmm... we'll have to deal with her in a different way."

*********************************************************************

Beth had selected a jug of wine and a loaf of bread as comestibles to bring back with her and brought them to the counter, along with some empty burlap potato sacks lying near the vegetables outside. A very large, very muscular Negro man was tending the register, which seemed unusual, but the bible taught to accept all races.

"May I help you?" he said in a very thick bayou accent.

"I'd like to purchase these," Beth answered as she dug for silver pieces in her pocket.

"I trust you've kept out of de thief near here's way?"

"Actually, we have found his shelter in the woods."

"You're kiddin'?"

"And all his treasure as well, a pile of gold and silver. We are going to use it to fuel the church."

"...Is dat so? Do you tink dat's a good idea?"

"Why?"

"Do you not know? De church here is corrupt. I heard de pastor has been takin' money off de collection plate. You give a pile of money dat huge to de pastor, you probably jus' end up wit no pastor. If you wanta use the money, I suggest a place other dan de church."

"But-"

"If I were you, I would keep it for myself. In fact, dat's exactly what you should do. No better cause den de ones you choose. Besides, money is de root of all evil. I can tell you gotta good soul. Better you take it 'fore someone else uses it for a bad purpose."

"But my husband and brother-"

"Men be suckered by the glory of gold easily. All de men have de money and dey only use it for evil. You a strong woman, you gotta stand up for yo'self. They probably intend to keep it for demselves. In fact, dey probably be plottin' against you right now."

She gasped.

"It's true, I say."

"Then... what should I..."

"It's simple. Jus' take de money away from them and run." He reached under the table and brought up a small green vial with some company label on it. "Dis here be a sleeping potion. You put dis in deir wine and dey be out like lights. Dat's when you make your move."

"How long will they be asleep?"

"Oh, a very, very long time. You ain't need to worry, you'll have plenty of time to gather up all de money."

She picked up the bottle and anxiously put it in her pocket, insecure and unconfident.

"Trust me," the storekeeper said. "You jus' remember what I tell you. You be all right."

Beth warily exited the general store, unsure of what just happened, but with the purpose implanted in mind.

The storekeeper smiled at her as the little bell on the door chimed. "Have a nice day," he called out after her. He felt something brush up against his leg and looked down. The leg of the real storekeeper, gagged with a white handkerchief and tied up in thick yellow rope, had fallen limp on its side. It had made a little trail in the puddle of blood the body was laying in from the shotgun wound to the chest. The man smirked and turned back to watch the counter, whistling a tune.

*********************************************************************

"She returns," Richard said to Matthew, looking up from the bottom of the tree trunk he was crouching against, mentally preparing for what he was going to do.

"I have brought what you asked," she said.

"Bring forth the wine, for we have much thirst to quench."

Matthew approached her, going behind her back. Beth curiously eyed him, but thought little of it as Matthew came round to her front.

"What's going on?"

Richard grabbed a sack from behind her and pulled it over her head. Matthew pushed her into Richard who wrapped his arm around her neck and squeezed. Beth tried to grasp for something, but the sack kept her little arms down. Richard squeezed tighter. He had braced himself for the struggle so she moved very little. Beth writhed and squirmed but it only made her weaker as her delicate airway was cut off of precious oxygen. Her little hands thrashed from their pinned points under the sack. Her strength dwindled until she went limp. Richard lay her prone body gently on the ground with the sack still around her head.

"It is done," Matthew said.

"Then let us drink... to the memory of Beth."

"Indeed."

Matthew popped the cork off the jug and took a large swig. Wiping his mouth, he handed it to Richard. "Does it taste a little funny to you?"

Richard drank and smacked his lips. "Perhaps. It seems a touch bitter."

"Oh," Matthew exclaimed, holding his stomach and grimacing. "Something's wrong..."And he collapsed on his side. "Ow." Then he closed his eyes and curled up, shaking violently. 

Richard also began to feel his stomach turn. A queasy indigestion that grew into searing pain like a thousand razor blades eviscerating his stomach. He fell to his knees and doubled over from the anguish. His vision began to blur and the forest seemed to darken before him while fiery agony ripped through his torso.  
He blinked once. Through his squinted eyes he saw four silhouettes slowly walking towards him, the lead one wearing a long coat. He bent down in front of Beth's body and dug in her dress pocket for a vial. He brought it up in front of Richard's eyes and peeled the label off, revealing another that read "ACME RAT POISON."

Richard looked up at the man who tilted his fedora back to show his beaten, roughneck face grinning sadistically, red eyes gleaming at him, handing down a death sentence.

"Where's your messiah now, Richard?"

And then everything went black.

###  



End file.
